Tumblr stuff and other little things
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: Here you will find one shots and ficlets that I've previously posted on Tumblr (mostly). Just a little happy place for them to live (dangit, I sound like Bob Ross...) Rating changed! Chapter four is M.
1. It's Just Right

_Here's a little ficlet I wrote minutes after TFP ended._

 _Keep a watch on this set of stories. I plan on posting fics and ficlets I've written on Tumblr (I have several I need to move). They needed a home, and here it shall be._

 _This one's rated **K**_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-It's Just Right-**

"So, John came by," were Molly's first words as she walked into the newly repaired 221B Baker Street.

"Did he? That's good." Sherlock hadn't moved from his seat. "Did you have a nice chat?"

"Yeah, of course. I updated him on Rosie's doings whilst he was gone. You know, being debriefed by MI5 can be a bit daunting. I remember how incredibly tedious that process is. Did I ever tell you about my conversation with Mycroft's…"

"Molly…stop," Sherlock interrupted.

"Right," she said, focused on the replacement rug. Not exactly a perfect replica, but damn close.

"What did John tell you?" Sherlock asked.

She took a deep breath, deposited her bag and jacket on the settee then took a seat to them. "Well, he told me about your sister. She sounds…"

" _Murderous?_ Continue."

"Right…"

"You said that. Get on with it, please." The suspense was killing him.

"Ri- he said that… he told me why you said…what you said." She finally looked up and made eye contact. "I understand."

"You do? That's good. That's at least one of us."

"I'm sorry?"

He got up and crossed over to the window. Looking out, he took a minute to gather his thoughts. He'd had days. Days and more contemplation than he ever frankly wanted. "Actually, on second thought, I don't think you really do understand," he said as he turned.

"Oh."

"I meant…that."

"What?" she said with a very small smile.

"I have to do it again, don't I?"

She stood and crossed the room until she was right in front of him. "I'm afraid so."

"Right." He cleared his throat (for absolutely no reason) then looked her in the eye and said, "I love you, Molly Hooper."

She expelled a deep breath.

He smiled. "See? Not forced. No guns or explosives. Just…"

"Us?"

"Just us," he replied as he took of both her hands in his.

"Well, you know how I feel…" she started.

"But you could say it. In person. Without calling me a bastard first."

"Well, if I must…"

"You must," he said.

"I love you. I do."

"Right…"

"You said that already."

"And there's the cheek. Do you have anywhere to be?" he asked.

"Right here," she replied before pulling him close and kissing him senseless.

* * *

 _Thanks yo! Let me know if you liked it. Hugs ~Lil~_


	2. Anders & the Case of the Missing Lube

_Anon said: I have an unhealthy obsession with jealouslock help and I did this... Rating this one_ _ **T**_ _, it's a little saucy. I put it here because it wasn't really a prompt. I just got carried away answering an ask. ; )_

* * *

 **-Andy Anders and the Case of the Missing Lube-**

Sherlock stood just outside of Molly's office door, listening intently as Dr. Anders (at the moment, Sherlock's least favourite person in the world) flirted with his pathologist. Incredibly unprofessional behaviour!

Her laughter rang out as the proctologist finished yet another ridiculous joke, causing Sherlock's stomach to turn.

"Andy, you're so funny," Molly said.

"Okay, I have another. You're gonna love this one, Moll Doll…"

 _Moll Doll? Moll Doll? This ends now!_ Sherlock barged into the office. "Afternoon, Dr. Hooper," he said, ignoring Anders the arsehole.

"Oh, Sherlock, you're just in time. Andy was about to tell another joke." She turned to the other doctor. "Go ahead."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Sherlock said, holding up his hand. "Your name is Andy Anders?" he asked.

Molly laughed again, putting a hand on Sherlock's arm she said, "Of course not, Sherlock. Andy is a nickname… for Anders."

 _More nicknames…_ He rolled his eyes.

"No, it's not," the other man interjected. "My name is Anderson Anders."

Molly and Sherlock both stared at him for several seconds, maybe a whole minute.

" _What_?" the proctologist questioned, looking back and forth between the pair.

Sherlock smiled. "Your parents must have had grand plans for their future that your birth completely ruined."

"This coming from a man named Sherlock," Anders returned.

"It's Old English, you moron!" he growled.

"Sherlock…" Molly admonished, turning back to Andy, she said, "Okay, let's hear that joke."

"Right." He glared at Sherlock, then turned his attention back to Molly. "While examining the body of Mr. Schwartz, a mortician notices that Schwartz has the biggest penis he's ever seen. 'I'm sorry, Mr. Schwartz,' says the mortician, 'But I can't send you to be cremated with a tremendously huge penis like this. It has to be saved for posterity. 'The mortician removes the penis, places it in a jar and puts the jar in his briefcase."

"No," Sherlock casually remarked.

"What now?" Anders whined.

"How big was his briefcase? Perhaps a messenger bag, or some kind of tote, but a briefcase wouldn't likely be big enough to fit a jar containing this massive penis." He looked at his pathologist. "Sorry, Molly."

"What are you sorry for?"

"For saying penis. I have a little class, unlike…"

"Let me finish sodding joke!" Anders shouted.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and motioned to the man as if saying, 'See what I mean?'

Anders glared at him once again then continued, "When he gets home, he decides to show it to his wife. 'I have something to show you that you won't believe,' he says, removing the jar from his briefcase."

"Then the wife recognises the dead man by his giant member because she was clearly cheating on the mortician with Schwartz," Sherlock said with a smug smile.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a dick?!" Anders shouted as he stomped out the door.

"Yes, an enormous one," Sherlock replied to the man's back then winked at Molly.

"That wasn't nice at all, you know," she admonished.

"I was actually quite easy on him. If he doesn't watch himself I'll let administration know that he's been knicking lube from his office." He raised his eyebrow. "He must have several liters of it by now."

"Oh, stop it! He's not stealing liters of lube… _is_ he?"

"He was flirting with you."

"What if he was?"

Sherlock shuffled on his feet and said, "It's… unprofessional."

She moved closer, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're jealous."

He scoffed. "I'm not jealous. It's inappropriate. This is a place of business, a respected hospital."

"You used to flirt with me all the time, right here in this respected hospital. Well, not really flirt. Fake flirt, I suppose."

"I wasn't faking, Molly. I may have done it when I wanted something from you, and I may have used your former crush to my advantage, but I never said anything that I didn't mean."

Molly looked away and mumbled something under her breath. "What was that?"

She huffed. "I said, I know."

"What?"

"I didn't know then, of course, but I do now. I see you, remember?"

She smirked at him in that way that made him want to lick her dimple. He was considering doing just that when Dr. Anders came storming back into Molly's office.

"No, you know what? I was here first! You don't even work here but you monopolize all of her time and…"

Sherlock didn't take his eyes off Molly, he just casually said, "Lube, Anders. Leave and no one will find out."

The man didn't utter another word, he just turned on his heels and left.

Molly shook her head. "You are…"

"About to kiss you, Molly Hooper," Sherlock finished.

"That seems quite unprofessional, Sherlock."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and said, "I don't work here, remember?" He kissed her before she could respond.

* * *

 _Do we like? Thanks for reading ~Lil~_


	3. A Holmes Gift

_This is for sherlollyliplocked on tumblr. She asked for a story about birthday cake sharing. It's sort of spoilerish fro season 4. Rated **K**_

* * *

 **-A Holmes Gift-**

"Why are there three cakes?" Sherlock asked.

"I ordered several different kinds," Molly explained as she handed him an extra napkin.

"I can see that Molly. Why?"

She shook her head. "I got your favourite, yellow cake with chocolate frosting, and lemon for me. I didn't know John's favourite, and not everyone likes lemon…"

"No one likes lemon except you, Molly," Sherlock interjected just before taking a bite.

"We've had this conversation, Sherlock. Lots of people like lemon!"

"Sorry, you're right, my great-aunt Muriel likes lemon cake, but she also likes to talk about her gout and smells of mothballs and regret," he teased.

"You don't have to eat the lemon cake, you giant baby! That's why I got you your very own!"

"Well, of course you got me my own cake," he said with a smirk. "It _is_ my birthday, after all."

"And what is this one, Molly?" John asked, trying to stop the cake fight.

Molly gave Sherlock one last glare and turned to the doctor. "It's red velvet."

"Ah, lovely," John said before taking a bite.

"This is good, Molly, but I like yours better," Sherlock commented then shoved another bit into his mouth.

"I'll make you one tomorrow. I need to do some shopping before I come over. I can cook it at Baker Street if it doesn't resemble a war zone," she said.

"FIne, but you know that it will draw Mycroft like flies to excrement."

John coughed then took a drink of water. "That was lovely, Sherlock, really."

Molly and Sherlock laughed.

"How often do you make cake for Sherlock?" John asked.

"Whenever I need to check up on him. I just make one and he shows up."

Sherlock smiled. "It's a Holmes gift."

* * *

 _Hit me up! Tell me if you likey! ~Lil~_


	4. A Better Way

_Lots of wank (from the ship that shall not be named) on Tumblr tonight. sunken_standard (gifting this to her) suggested we fight 'wank' with 'wankLock'. I thought that was a splendid idea. This one's **M** my friends!_

* * *

 **-A Better Way-**

He barely made it into the seldom used men's room in the basement near the service entrance before had his cock out, furiously working it in his fisted hand. _This would be so much better if I had some lotion_ , he thought.

It was all Molly Hooper's fault, as was frequently the case. She was wearing that damnable purple button-up, the one that gapped just a bit at her breasts as if it were a size too small. The moment he saw her he had deduced that she'd not had time to do laundry recently (working several double shifts and assisting him with a triple homicide), causing her to dip into her more revealing clothing choices. THEN she had to go and be completely brilliant and charming when he had been in the process of explaining the conclusion of the case, cutting him off with her own deductions and correctly picking out the murderer before he could do his _big reveal_. Usually, such behaviour would accomplish nothing but to royally piss Sherlock off, but coming from the petite pathologist it had managed to make him instantly hard and hungry for her.

Gathering some lubrication from the tip of his leaking cock, Sherlock used it to slide his hand more easily up and down his shaft. As he did, he imagined Molly, completely bare to him, bent over her desk, gripping the edges tightly. He thrust into her as she pushed back. _FUCK!_ His hips surged forward, thrusting his cock into his hand, mimicking the act his imagination had conjured for him. Using his free hand, he pulled his bollocks down as he felt his orgams starting to rise. His fantasy changed and Molly was on her knees, those perfectly perky breasts beautifully on display, her lips wrapped around his cock while he drove himself down her throat. She moaned and tugged on his balls, her other hand buried between her legs. He came with a shout, emptying himself into the out of order toilet, though in his mind Molly swallowed each and every drop.

Thankfully the sink wasn't broken. A quick wash and a tousle of his hair and he looked right as rain.

Back in the path lab, however, the scene that greeted him caused his recently sated libido to surge once again.

"Oh, Sherlock! I thought you'd left," Molly innocently said.

She was on her knees, her skirt hiked up high on her thighs, as she gathered up what looked like about twelve months worth of autopsy reports that seemed to have been scattered across the entire floor.

He could see right down her shirt.

"No, I…" He studied the scene for a moment before making a decision. There certainly were more enjoyable ways to deal with his attraction to Molly Hooper than wanking in the out of orders. "Can I help you with that?" he asked before kneeling down to pick up a file.

"I'm sure you have something better you could be doing," she replied with a giggle.

"I do indeed. And when we're finished, I'd like your assistance with just that."

* * *

 _Drop me a review and let me know if you likey! ~Lil~_


	5. Yes, Molly, I Do Think You Like A Drink

_First meeting for Sherlolly Appreciation Week on Tumblr._

 _Here's my theory about Sherlock asking Molly for her help with the Stag Night. "You think I like a... drink?" - Well…._

 _Thanks go to MizJoley for looking it over for me._

 _I own nothing ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-Yes, Molly, I Do Think You Like A Drink-**

Molly stumbled to the bench and sat down, glad that she was stationary, even if the rest of the world still seemed to be a bit… wobbly. Her 'friends' had left her at the bus stop, drunk, to head to another pub.

"Stupid, awful, bloody, stupid friends," she mumbled to herself. _I could be kidnaped, or abducted! Wait… that's the same thing._ Looking around to check out her surroundings, she saw a man leant up against building behind her and slightly to her left, smoking a fag.

In the dark all she could make out was that he was tall and wearing a long coat. _Great!_ she thought. _Probably a flasher._ She lowered her head. _Not looking at the crazy man!_

Hearing footsteps, she realised that the flasher was walking closer to her. Molly was very careful not to look at him again. _That's what's you're supposed to do, right? Or was it look at them, try to memorise their face?_ She was confused… well, maybe more drunk than confused.

"Want one?" a deep voice asked her.

Glancing up at the kidnapper/flasher, Molly shook her head, then turned to her right look for the bus. _Where the hell is it?_

"It's coming from this direction," he said, causing Molly to turn her head toward him once again. He was facing away from her, pointing with his cigarette to the West.

"Thanks," she said, trying to sound sober. _Must not let the maniac know I'm compromised_.

"You have a rubbish group of friends, you know that?" he said as he flicked the butt away.

Crazy though he may be, he did have a lovely voice. "Hmm?"

"You're drunk and alone. It's nearly midnight."

"Oh," she said, keeping her face down. _Avoid eye contact with the crazed killer!_ "I'm not alone and I'm not drunk."

He chuckled. "Of course not."

"Ahh… no..." she tried to argue, but really what was she going to say? She was indeed alone, at 11.47 at night and she _was_ drunk.

He walked closer and Molly felt her fear rising, or was it something else?

"Why don't you just call a cab before someone…"

That sentence was never finished because Molly vomited on his _very_ expensive looking shoes.

"You idiot!" he growled.

" _Sorry_ ," she mumbled as she felt someone easing her to lie down on the bench. "Please don't kill and abduct me."

"You got that backwards," he said. Then she watched him pull out surgical gloves from his pocket (yep, definitely a killer!) and take off his shoes, tossing them in a nearby bin.

She closed her eyes for just a second (to make the world stop spinning), but she could still hear him talking. "Mycroft… ( _what's a Mycroft?_ ) Send one of your goons to Hanover Street I've stumbled upon a drunken girl whilst waiting on my contact." He paused and Molly opened her eyes to find him looking at her. "Yes, she's fine. Abandoned by her friends and in fear that I might kill her. Oh, and I need a new pair of shoes," he finished just before ringing off.

She was still staring at the man, _the beautiful, beautiful man,_ she now realised, as he walked over and crouched down so that he was nearly eye level with her. "My brother works for the government. He's sending someone to pick you up. No one's going to kill you… tonight."

"You're fucking beautiful," Molly said as she looked into the most glorious pair of eyes she'd ever seen.

He seemed unimpressed by her assessment of his looks. "Beauty is a construct based on childhood impressions."

"There was nothin' in my childhood like you," she said, still in awe.

The man smirked. "You were celebrating something this evening." He studied her, thinking. "Hen night? No… a new job. Your new job!" he finished, almost excitedly.

"How'd you know that?" she asked.

He didn't respond, just stood and straightened his coat, then pulled out another cigarette and lit it.

"I start tomorrow."

"You'll have a hangover on your first day. Not a good first impression."

"I'll be fine. I did the math," she explained as she sat up.

"You what?"

"I did the math, calculating how much alcohol I could drink and avoid a hangover," she explained.

"Did the numbers not include regurgitation?"

She shrugged. "There were unknown variables."

His head jerked up. "There he is."

Molly looked around and saw no one. "You're going to meet someone _now_? You don't even have shoes on."

"Don't let the car leave until I get back. I'll need my shoes when I return." Then he was gone, jogging around the corner, shoeless.

 _What a strange man,_ she thought. _Beautiful, but strange._

* * *

 _Give me a little review, make my day. ~Lil~_


	6. So, First Date, Was It?

_Here's day two of Sherlolly Appreciation Week. Big thanks to Miz for her betaing brilliance! It's rated G._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-So, First Date, Was It?-**

He was nervous about dinner, he could admit that much (at least to himself). But this wasn't just _any_ dinner, it was his first real date with Molly Hooper. _Date_ , his mind scoffed. _Yes, date. Now shut up!_ He had, of course, done his research about what woman expected from a suitor on a first date, then promptly tossed most of it out the window. Molly wasn't like other woman. Besides, they'd known each other for nearly eight years, for God's sake!

The table was set near the windows, and yes, there was a candle. He'd forgone the flowers, however. Giving a woman flowers was a blatant manipulation and he absolutely finished with manipulating Molly Hooper. It had taken almost two days to make the flat presentable (with a great deal of help from Mrs. Hudson). How it had gotten in such bad shape after the repairs, he had no idea. The meal, linguine with clam sauce, was nearly ready. The wine was chilling and the music was softly playing in the background.

He sighed. _Nervous indeed._ His only comfort was that Molly would definitely be more nervous than him. That thought relaxed him for a moment as he checked on the sauce once again.

Hearing voices, he realised that time had gotten away from him and that his Molly had arrived and was speaking with Mrs. Hudson. He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of a kitchen chair, putting it on as he walked to the sitting room. Counting her soft footfalls on the stairs, he opened the door just at she arrived on the landing.

"That's good timing," she said, smiling, those adorable dimples beckoning him to kiss them.

It wasn't the right time, though, or placement for that matter. _No, no cheek kisses tonight_. He had plans for both of their lips...later. He also had upwards of twenty-two ideas of how this date could end (each one more pleasing than the next).

"Evening, Molly. You look…" His eyes took her in: _work shoes, khaki trousers, striped button up shirt, chunky sweater, her hair in a haphazard bun atop her head._ She looked magnificent. "...lovely."

"Don't be glib, Sherlock. I got stuck doing a last minute autopsy and didn't get a chance to change," she said as she walked past him, tossing her handbag onto the sofa. "Mmm, something smells good."

"Linguine with clam sauce," he explained as he shut the door.

"From Angelo's?" she asked excitedly.

"Ah, no actually…"

"It doesn't matter," she interrupted. "It's my favourite. I'm sure I'll love it no matter where you got it from."

Deciding to wait until she tasted it to take credit (just in case she hated it), he directed her to the table and pulled out a chair. "Please, have a seat."

"You're quite the gentleman this evening."

"I'll just, ah, go get the wine." He walked away with a confused look on his face. She wasn't at all nervous. Which made him feel very conflicted. On the one hand, he was glad that she was so relaxed in his presence, but… _it's our first date, damnit!_ She should at least be a _little_ nervous!

It wasn't any better when he returned. She thanked him for the wine then made a horrible joke about cirrhosis of the liver.

Once they started eating, things got even stranger, or rather not strange at all. It was just like every other meal they'd ever shared.

"So I told him the same thing I told you about three years ago, once I grew a pair and stopped letting you run roughshod over me," she explained before taking another bite.

"You said, 'Sherlock Holmes, you might be a good looking bastard, but you're still a bastard and I'm not your house elf'? I never did figure out what a house elf was, by the way."

"No, you dolt! The other part. I told him to clean up his own mess or I'd leave it sit there until the Second Coming."

"Ah, religious humour. Funny." He smiled. It wasn't funny. But this was a date. One laughed at their date's bad jokes whilst on a date, it was required (one of the small bits of advice he had kept as he filtered through all the nonsense).

Molly shook her head and laughed. "Sort of. Where did you get this, it's excellent," she said, pointing to her plate with her fork.

"I made it, Molly."

"No, really."

"Of course I made it. Is that so unbelievable? I am a graduate chemist. Cooking isn't difficult, just monotonous."

"I believe that you're capable, Sherlock. I seriously doubt that there's anything you couldn't do if you set your mind to it. My problem is that you never do anything yourself if you can get someone else to do it for you."

Where had she learned to compliment him and insult him in the same breath? _You! She learned it by watching you, moron!_ "Well, tonight is... " He froze, looking into her big brown eyes, all thought evaporated and he was left gaping. After several agonising seconds he managed, "You like it though?"

Molly nodded slowly then went back to eating. Thank God!

The meal ended and Sherlock took the dishes to the kitchen, something which seemed to surprise Molly even more than his cooking. He had told her to have a seat on the sofa and that he'd return with dessert.

Her eyes followed him as he walked in holding two bowls of ice cream. When he handed one to her she let out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh thank goodness. I was afraid you'd made a tart or something. You're starting to freak me out, Sherlock." She dug into the double chocolate chip with a smile.

Though her behaviour was _not_ what he had expected, he was relieved that she was enjoying herself.

When they finished their ice cream Molly leaned back and rubbed her belly. "Wonderful meal, Sherlock. I'm stuffed."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Sitting up, she reached for her bag. "I did. But I've had a shit day and I need a long bath." She stood and started walking towards the door.

 _What?_ Sherlock followed. "Ah, well, thank you for... coming to dinner," he said, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. _Maybe I waited too long,_ he thought. _Maybe there's no actual spark left after all these years. Or maybe I'm just rubbish at dating when it's an actual date, not pretending._

She stopped at the door and turned around. "What's wrong?" she asked, putting a comforting hand on his forearm.

 _Oh, there's the spark._ "Nothing, Molly. I just had high expectations for this evening."

Her lips quirked up. "High expectations? For what, dinner? We eat dinner all the time, Sherlock." She suddenly look apologetic. "Did you want to do an experiment?"

And that's when the penny dropped.

 _Well, this is unfortunate._ Shoving his hands into his pockets, he said, "Molly, this wasn't _just_ dinner. Think back to when I asked you to come over."

She got a far off look in her eyes for a moment, then started looking around the room. He watched her look at the table, with the still lit candle. She looked toward the kitchen, then at his laptop, still quietly playing instrumental music.

" _Oh my God!_ " she whispered.

"Finally got it, did you?"

"This was a date! This was _our first date!"_

Sherlock just nodded.

Dropping her bag, she reached for him, grabbing his shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I really didn't…"

"Yes, I see that now."

"You cooked for me! The ice cream and music and the candle. Oh, Sherlock, the candle was a dead giveaway!" She moved closer. "I feel like an idiot."

Reaching up, he cupped her face, tracing her dimples with his thumbs. "You're not an idiot, Molly."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. What can I do to make this up to you?"

He smirked. "Well, my expectations did include a kiss."

"Oh, of course," she said with a sexy little smile. "All this trouble… it's the _least_ you deserve." Pulling him closer, she stretched up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. "Does that meet your expectations?"

Grabbing her by the hips, he pulled her close. "It does. But it doesn't make up for not realising that we were on an actual date."

"Hmm," Molly hummed, looking thoughtful as she threaded her fingers through his hair. "I assume you have some ideas about how we could salvage this evening?"

"Twenty-two to be exact," he said before kissing her senseless.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! Give us a review! ~Lil~_


	7. A Bigger Problem

_Day three of Sherlolly Appreciation Week - kissin' - This one's rated G. Thanks go to MizJoley for looking it over._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-A Bigger Problem-**

Sherlock had kissed Molly on her cheek a several times, her forehead after she'd banged it into a cabinet in the lab (she was pretty sure he was making fun of her at the time) and once, during a case, on the back of her right hand (making her swoon!). But this kiss...

Though the kiss itself _felt_ much like the others, there was something very different this time. His touch, his eyes.

Sherlock might touch her arm or shoulder from time to time (usually to nudge her out of his way when he was working in the lab) or he might even guide her through a doorway with his hand on the small of her back. But he had _never_ gently taken her by the hips, pulling her close to him, looking her directly in the eyes as if he were trying to convey some unspoken meaning before kissing her.

She had opened her door moments before, to find him standing there looking… _bewildered_. He hadn't spoken, just stared. And when Molly said his name, instead of answering her, he'd put his hands on her hips, drawing her to him. Closer, but not quite touching.

Then there were his lips, they'd lingered at the corner of her mouth a fraction too long.

That plus the fact that his hands hadn't moved, his fingers kneading the fleshy part of her hips that she just couldn't get rid of no matter how long she ran on her damn treadmill, convinced Molly that something was decidedly different.

After that first touch of his lips to her skin, he pulled back. He looked less confused and more intense. There was a question in his eyes, and somehow Molly knew what he was asking. All she could do was nod her head because at that moment words seemed too trite, too small.

He expelled what appeared to be a relieved breath, then licked his lips before he lowered his head. This time he brushed his lips across hers, first one way, then the other. He then closed his mouth around her top lip, holding it there. He seemed to be savouring it before moving on to her bottom lip. By the time he was finished with this little exchange, Molly was holding onto his lapels for dear life, praying that her legs didn't give out on her.

She needn't have worried. His next move, turning her slightly and pressing her up against her doorframe with his chest and hip, had her well and truly pinned, unable to fall or move hardly at all. His hands inched slowly up her sides until he reached her shoulders. Then he drew back once again.

This time there was no confusion in his stare, only burning arousal. His breathing was more laboured, his dilated pupils locked on her lips. With a quick glance up at her eyes, he dove back down, attaching his mouth to hers. His hands cupped her head, tilting it slightly to the right as his tongue flicked at the seam of her lips. Molly moaned as his tongue swept into her mouth, past her teeth, gently tasting her, caressing her palate, rolling against her own tongue. This continued for what seemed like forever until he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers.

"I'm…" he started, then took a deep, ragged breath. "I'm so glad that you're okay," he whispered, moving his mouth to her temple. "So glad."

"Wh-why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Molly... "

He looked down at her and she felt her chest constrict. His eyes suddenly looked lost and frightened. "Is this because of that phone call?"

He didn't answer, just pressed his lips against her cheek and breathed deeply.

"Sherlock, why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Because you love me," he whispered.

"What?"

"But we have a much bigger problem, Molly," he said. She felt his breath ghosting across her over sensitised skin. "Because it seems that I love you too."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading (I promise to get caught up with reviews very soon... *bad writer!*) ~Lil~_


	8. From Thinking to Spooning

_All right, day four of Sherlolly Appreciation Week (or SAW, as I've seen it called, which makes me think of those terrifying films...eek!) Anyhoo, this one is rated **G** and unbeta'd because I've had a crap day and just wrote it in like 15 minutes. Hope it's not awful! _

_I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-From Thinking to Spooning-**

Molly sat at her kitchen table, wrapped up in her duvet as she watched Tom and Sherlock shout at each other. Well, in all honesty Tom was shouting, Sherlock was gracefully moving around the kitchen preparing tea and toast.

 _How is this my life?_ she wondered. Though it was bound to happen eventually, really. Being friends with Sherlock Holmes… wait, were they friends? _I suppose we are, he did spend the night in my bed… wrapped around me. Nope, not thinking about that right now._

"... not how people behave! You weren't _thinking_ , Sherlock, you were spooning her!" Tom shouted at Sherlock's back. "She's engaged, for God's sake!" Planting his hands on his hips, he turned to Molly. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Molly just shook her head.

"Unbelievable!" he yelled before storming down the hall.

Sherlock put a mug of tea in front of her. "He seems a bit irrational, Molly." Then he turned back to tend to the toast that had just popped up.

She sighed and thought back to how this all started…

Tom was well aware that Sherlock used her flat from time to time for…'thinking' purposes. The spare bedroom was often occupied by the consulting detective. Her fiancé didn't like it, but she'd made it clear that she had no intention of kicking Sherlock out. Last night, however, whilst sound asleep, he'd crept into her king sized bed instead of the lumpy double down the hall. Molly had woken up at some point, feeling arms around her waist and snuggled closer to the warm body, assuming it was Tom.

At 9.47 she was awoken to a furious Tom standing in her doorway, confirming that the man wrapped around her _was_ not her future husband, but none other than Sherlock Holmes. She had no explanation for him simply because… _what the hell_?

She and Tom had gotten into a pretty nasty row after John and Mary's wedding the night before and, evidently, he'd come over to take her to breakfast and apologise. _Oops…_

As she tried to untangle herself from Sherlock's long limbs, he stirred. "Oh, morning Thomas," he said as he stretched and rolled out of bed, wearing only boxers and a tee shirt. He meandered over to a pile of clothes and started getting dressed.

Molly sat up, clutching the covers to her chest (though she was wearing a singlet and pajama pants) and said, "It's not how it looks!"

Sherlock paused his dressing. "It's really not," he confirmed.

"It looks like my fianceé spent the night with another man!" Tom said in a low dangerous voice.

Sherlock smirked. "Oh, well. Technically…"

And that's when the shouting had started.

Molly was pulled from her memories by Sherlock putting a plate of toast in front of her. "I'll go talk to him..." He paused, looking her straight in the eyes and said, "...if you really want me to."

Did she? She wasn't sure. "Ah, I'm… Well…"

He put his hand on her arm and squeezed. "He's not a bad choice, Molly. I've looked into him. But…"

"But what?" she asked, hopefully.

He sighed. "Nothing. Let me go explain things. I'll fix it, promise." Then he bent down and kissed her forehead.

"All right," she whispered to his back as he walked down the hall. "Don't try too hard."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! ~Lil~_


	9. Impractical About Death

_Day 5 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week! FUN! This one's about a fight! Rated **T** for one naughty word. Big thanks to Miz for betaing it and helping push me for a proper ending. Bless her! _

_I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-Impractical About Death-**

Molly Hooper sat curled up in the corner of John's sofa, crying and breaking his heart just a little.

"I'm sure it's not nearly as bad as it seems," he said, trying to offer the woman some support.

 _Sniff_. "I don't know, John." _Sniff_. "You didn't see his face. I was awful."

"Molly…"

"It was my fault! _Mine_! Our first fight and _I_ started it!"

 _Yes, that_ is _slightly unbelievable._ "Doesn't matter who's fault it is…"

Her head snapped up. "Of course it does! I'm buggering this all up. Me! Not Sherlock, _me_!"

John had watched the couple over the last five months, and he had watched Molly slowly unraveling. He knew something was coming and that it probably wasn't good. "Are you not happy?"

She shook her head. "No, it's not that."

"What is it then?"

A moment passed as she stared across the room. "I'm waiting."

"On what?"

"The other shoe."

He sighed. "You can't do that Molly. It's not fair. You knew exactly who he was when…"

"No, you misunderstand, John. I'm waiting not for him to fail. I'm... afraid."

"Of what?"

She sat up on the edge of the sofa, her elbows on her knees and said, "I've always been a very practical person. Mum died when I was seven, my dad when I was twenty. I'm surrounded by death. Normally I…" She paused, wiping her face with her sleeve. "But I finally found someone that I don't think I can live without."

He reached for her, rubbing his hand across her back.

"I've seen the things he does, John, what lengths he'll go through to solve a case. He puts himself in danger without a thought." Turning her face she added, "I-I don't th-think…"

At that moment the kitchen door burst open and Sherlock strode into the room. "Give us a moment, John," he said, his eyes firmly planted on Molly.

John got up and left without a word.

* * *

Sherlock had heard the entire exchange. It was underhanded, even he knew that, but he was completely out of his depth and had no idea what had set Molly off that morning. So he went to the only person who could help him figure out his relationship.

He knew who was knocking on John's door, so he asked his friend not to disclose his location as he stepped into the kitchen. Then he listened to her heartbreaking words.

It really was completely unlike Molly to pick a fight about dirty clothes left on the floor; clearly the heart of the problem was something much larger. As he stood just behind the door, listening to the woman he loved explain her fears to his best friend, Sherlock made a decision.

Sitting down next to his girlfriend of just a few months, Sherlock pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she said in a small voice.

"Molly, do you want me to stop solving crimes?" he asked as she cleaned her face.

She looked up, horrified. "No! Of course not!"

"Then what do you propose we do about your anxiety over my mortality?"

With a defeated shake of her head she said, "There's nothing we _can_ do, Sherlock. I'm a neurotic mess. You're not happy and I'm a wreck. I th-think it might be best if we… just forget this whole thing." She smiled sadly. "We had some good times though, right?"

"You're suggesting that we… _break up_?"

"What else is there?"

"Not giving up, for one thing!" He stood and paced across the room. He was more than a little shocked at her defeated attitude. "Molly... I'm… Yes, my job is dangerous. And yes, I tend to take unnecessary risks from time to time."

Her eyebrow shot up as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Okay, I _often_ take unnecessary risks. But it's very unlike you to simply give up."

Molly stood and crossed to him. "I watched you jump off a roof. I've seen you high off your arse five different times. _I_ was the one in the back of that ambulance, Sherlock. _I_ ran those tests. I visited you after Mary shot you. Then after you broke out of the hospital and nearly died again! I know what Smith did to you. I know that you were tortured whilst you were on your mission for Mycroft. I know everything! It plays like a fucking movie in my head."

"What's different now?" he asked calmly.

"What?"

"What's different, Molly?" She didn't answer, so he continued, "You've always known those things and you've always loved me. So what's different?"

He watched as her eyes filled with tears. Shaking her head she said, "I don't… I don't know. I really don't."

Sherlock smiled. "I do." He put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her closer. "If I had died any of those times, you would have lost a friend, someone you cared for and even loved. And you would have mourned me. But now, you'd be losing a partner, a lover, your future…" He swallowed. "Well, we're not quite there yet, but I think you get my meaning."

She nodded. "How…"

"Because _I_ fully understand. Losing you would break me, Molly."

Burying her head in his chest, Molly sobbed, "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. The clothes don't really bother me."

He held her tight. "I know that, sweetheart."

"You're not a slob."

"I sort of am." He kissed the top of her head.

"Or an arsehole."

"Well…"

She pulled away, looking him in the eyes. "Not to me, you're not." She looped her arms around his neck.

"That's special treatment because I get to see you naked."

Molly giggled and tugged his head closer. "Sorry I went a little nuts."

"Are you kidding? You took the pressure off of me. I really thought I'd be the first one to screw up."

Molly rolled her eyes then sobered. "I'll try not to worry so much."

"And I suppose I could be more careful. But I'm going to need more naked girlfriend to make up for missing out on all that danger." Sherlock said with a huge smile before kissing his girl breathless.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading. ~Lil~**


	10. He Always Meant It

_Day six! WOOT! Okay, this one caused me some issues, but here you have it. For good or ill, this is my 'first I Love You'. All the thanks to the wonderful MizJoley for betaing and coming up with the title. It's rated **T** because of a naughty word. _

_I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-He Always Means It-**

"This was really… _nice_ , Sherlock," Molly says as they pause in front of her building.

He takes her hand, slowly bringing it to his lips. Just before he touches his mouth to her knuckles he looks into her eyes and says, "I love you."

"Yes, I know," she replies flatly. "You've told me everyday for the last three weeks."

Warning lights start to flash in Sherlock's mind. _Danger_! _Danger_! He aborts the hand kissing for the moment and takes a step back. "Is something the matter?" he asks tentatively.

Molly sighs and motions to the steps, then takes a seat. Sherlock follows, sitting next to her. "I'm just…" she starts, staring at the office building across the street. Then her head drops, she runs her fingers through her loose hair. "How do I put this?"

"You can be honest with me, Molly, if something's wrong…"

"This feels unreal," she interrupts.

"What?"

"The dinners, the romance, the constant 'I love yous'. I'm not sure what to make of it all."

He is stunned and, if he's honest, he's also hurt.

Molly is looking at him, big brown eyes searching for… something, but he has no idea what. He was certain that he'd gotten it right. Pamper her, take her out, shower her with affection...love her. _Damn…_

"Say something, Sherlock! Are you faking any of this this?" she demands.

"NO!" is all he can manage.

"I didn't actually think you were, but…" She looks away, shaking her head. "It's just not like I imagined. Us." She motions between the two of them. "This. I thought we'd hang out at your flat, playing with cancerous livers and fooling around. I thought you'd want to keep us secret, not parade me all around London. I _never_ expected you to tell me that you love me every single day."

 _It_ hasn't _been every single day._ He'd gotten caught on a case eight days ago, and forgotten to tell her. He told her twice the next day to make up for it. "This isn't what you want?" he asks in a voice he almost doesn't recognise.

Molly turns and cups his face. "I love you. But you know that, don't you?"

He nods.

"And I know you love me. You don't have to constantly tell me, unless you really want to."

 _I do_ , he thinks.

"I believed it the first time you said it, though I don't think you had a clue you _were_ saying it," she says with a knowing smile.

 _Wait, what? That doesn't make any…_

"And all the romance is sweet, but unnecessary."

This time he turns, pulling her hands away from his face. "I wanted to make up for how you found out. That awful phone call…"

"That wasn't the first time you said it, Sherlock."

"Of course it was."

She laughs, shaking her head and biting her lip. "You really don't remember, do you?"

No, no he didn't.

"Twice. You said it twice before that."

Bloody hell.

"I had a very interesting voice mail the morning after John's stag night." She looks around as if trying to remember something, a wicked smile on her face. "Ah, yes: 'Molly, Molly Hooper. My Molly. My pathologist. I love you more than a locked room triple murder.' Then you said something about ash and disconnected."

He was speechless. But he took a moment to enjoy the fact that she seemed to have memorised the voicemail.

"I chalked it up to drunkenness." She pauses, studying him. "I didn't believe it. People say a lot of things when they're drunk. Doesn't mean it's true."

 _Unless it is and I've loved you for years_ , he thinks. The realisation had hit him after Sherrinford. After returning to Baker Street he had taken a moment and let himself think about the ramifications of those words. Then he'd realised that he had meant them. He loved her. He hadn't spent a great deal of time trying to figure out _how long_ he'd loved Molly Hooper, just that he did. The next day he was at her door with a dozen roses, an explanation and what he thought was his first _not forced_ I love you.

"Then there was the hospital…"

 _That could mean anything. Please don't let it be when I was high._ "What about the hospital, Molly?"

"It was after you were shot. Well, when they rushed you back after you pulled a runner. I was working and John phoned me. I met him in Trauma and he asked me to sit with you after you stabilised. He needed to talk to Mary about something. You'd lost a lot of blood, plus they'd pumped you full of pain meds. You were in and out of consciousness."

"I have no memory of this."

"Of course you don't."

"What did I say?"

"You thought John was still in the room, you were talking to him," she explains.

"Yes?"

"And you said: 'Promise me, John.'" Molly's voice breaks just a little and she clears her throat before continuing. "'Promise me, John. If I die, tell Molly that I love her. Tell her that…"

"What?!"

"You said that you locked me away for safekeeping. That you put me into a room to watch over your heart. Can you imagine?" she says with glistening eyes and a sweet smile. "I tried not to think about those words, Sherlock. All this time I told myself that you were just high on narcotics and very, very near death. That it meant nothing. Then that phone call..."

"Molly…"

"I know. Maybe I shouldn't have made you say…"

"No," he stops her. "I'm glad that you did. I don't remember the others, but I remember that one. The one that made me think. The one that brought us here." He wonders how he's become this sappy, romantic fool in such a short amount of time, then he thinks about what Molly just told him. He considers the idea that he'd locked her away in a room in his mind palace, abstract as that may be, and realises that perhaps it's just another thing he's pushed away, like his feelings for this woman.

Molly's hand on his brings him out of his thoughts; he squeezes it and looks at her. "So you want me to tone down the hearts and flowers?"

Her whole face brightens. "A bit. I'd love to just stay in and talk about… well anything or," Her cheeks turn pink, so pink she's practically glowing in the street lights. "Or nothing. We could _not_ talk if you like."

 _Ah, not talking means snogging or probably, most likely, shagging._ "I could be talked into _not_ talking, if you twisted my arm," he says with what he hopes is a boyish grin. Then he stands, holding out his hand and helps Molly to her feet. They walk toward her door and he's hoping she plans on inviting him in for a bit of _not_ talking right now. But there's one more thing. "Molly?"

She's looking for her keys at the bottom of her large bag. He'll pull his out in a minute to stop the fruitless search. She looks up and says, "Yes?"

"I'm still allowed to say I love you, right?"

"Of course you are. Just don't say it because you think you have to."

That's fine with him. He'd never once said it because he _had_ to.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. ~Lil~_


	11. Love is Like

_A little tiny Tumblr thing. Rated **K**. Big thanks to Mizjoely for betaing this for me. _

_I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-Love is Like-**

"I like you."

"I'm sorry?" Molly asked.

"I like you," he repeated.

The pair stood in the corridor just outside the morgue, Molly in a set of scrubs with more than a little bit of Mr. Hopkins still on her, Sherlock dressed in his usual bespoke suite. He had barged into the room just minutes before and demanded an audience with the pathologist. It didn't matter at all that she was elbows deep in the chest cavity of a 57 year old lorry driver at the time. He was adamant, and she knew there was no point in arguing with the man.

"I like you too, Sherlock. Isss that all?" she questioned, completely confused.

He growled softly and turned around mumbled incoherently to himself. After about three minutes, Molly was just about ready to give up on him and go back inside the morgue, when he finally turned back to face her.

"You're not understanding. I don't like… anyone."

"I'm aware of your aversion to people, Sherlock. Especially the ones you consider stupid. However…"

"See, that's just it. You aren't stupid. Not at all."

"Thank you for that acknowledgement, I suppose. As numerous as my faults may be, I've never thought of myself as stupid."

He huffed out a laugh. "Numerous faults, Molly? You are the least faulty human being I've ever met."

That gave her pause. Two compliments in one conversation? _Oh God…_ "What do you need? Are you in trouble?"

" _No_!" he said, sounding offended. "Why would you think that?"

"You're buttering me up for something. I'm not sure why, but…"

"Buttering… I'm not plying you with compliments, Molly. I haven't done that in years."

"Be that as it may, I don't fully understand why you pulled me out of an autopsy to tell me…"

"I don't just love you, Molly, I like you. Genuinely like who you are. I love my parents because they gave me life and it's expected. I…" He sighed. "... love Mycroft, I suppose, because he's my brother and, as much as I detest his meddling, I will admit that he means well. I love Rosamund because she's my goddaughter and a baby and has yet to do anything to annoy me too much. The verdict is out there, of course; her personality is still forming. Though the chances are in her favour with Mary as a mother…"

"Sherlock, stop!" She held up a hand. "What, in God's name are you trying to say?"

"I don't love you because I _have_ to. I love you because… I like you," he explained. "Like… John. I chose to. Not because it was expected. Not because I _have_ to."

She smiled. He'd never elaborated on The Phone Call and it had been nearly two weeks since that, frankly horrible, day. She suspected, after hearing the explanation from John about the events at Sherrinford, that he actually meant those words, just not in the way that she'd dreamed of hearing. In the end it didn't matter. She loved him and she always would.

"Okay. I understand. And I'll…" Even though she did understand, she couldn't bring herself to say it again. "...always like you too."

He expelled a breath of relief. "Thank God."

"I really need to get back to Mr. Hopkins. So…"

"Come to Baker Street tonight for dinner," he said. It was clearly not a question.

"Sure." She nodded. "I think I might have some extra toes if you want them?"

A slightly confused look crossed his face. "Toes? Oh, no, not tonight. Experiments are fine, Molly, but even _I_ know that they aren't appropriate for first dates." He pulled out his mobile and started typing.

"First whats?"

He glanced up. "First dates." He continued typing as he asked, "You're not allergic to shellfish, are you?"

"Ah, no."

"I didn't think so," he said, his eyes focused on his phone.

"Who's going on a date?" she asked, thoroughly flabbergasted.

His head jerked up. "Us. You and I? I just asked you."

"Why… what… why?"

Shoulders slumping, he sighed, this time clearly frustrated. "We just established that I like you and you like me. Thus the date. How are you not following this?"

"You said you liked me like you like John…"

Sherlock put his hands to his temples and mumbled, "One of us has to stop saying _like_."

"Can you see my confusion?"

"I do like you…" He growled. "I admire you much the same way I do John, yes. But not _exactly_ the same way. For instance, I've never wanted to see _him_ naked."

Confusion clearing away, Molly let his words really sink in. _I don't just love you, Molly, I like you. Genuinely like who you are._ "You _like_ me," she said, a smile blooming on her face.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sherlock nodded. "We're finally there." He looked down at her, his blue-green eyes dancing all over her face. "So, you'll come to dinner?"

"Of course."

He stowed his phone then leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth. "Bring an overnight bag, if you like," he said with a wink.

 _I'd like that very much_ , she thought as she watched him walk away.

* * *

 _Hope you liked it ; ) Please let me know! Thanks for reading. ~Lil~_


	12. That Damn Scarf

_Just a little thing that happened on tumblr today. It's rated **T** (cause it's a tiny bit naughty) and for my bestest of friends MrsMCrieff!_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-That Damn Scarf-**

Sherlock busted into the path lab, barking out orders to John who was right on his heels. Throwing off his Belstaff, he said something to Molly, but for the life of her she couldn't make out what he was saying. When he was riled up and 'bossy' her mind was _not_ her own. And then, _then_ he did the unthinkable. He started 'jerking off' his scarf!

 _Does he not understand how that looks?_ she wondered. The way his fist gripped the wool and… _tugged_.

 _Mercy…_

"Molly!" he said a little louder, pulling her out of her masturbatory fantasy.

"Ah, yes?"

He smirked. "Of course I know how it looks. Why do you think I always do it around you?" he said with a wink.

John, looking completely confused, said, "What the hell are you two talking about?"

"Never mind, John. Send that text to Graham and fetch Molly something cool to drink."

"You're an arse!" Molly said, turning away to hide her blush.

Sherlock walked up behind her and gripped her waist. "But you _love_ it," he whispered against her neck.

"Not this again!" John said as he started for the door. He stopped and turned. "I thought we agreed 'no touchy at work'?!"

Sherlock, who was busy nibbling at his pathologist's neck, paused and said, "I remember no such agreement."

John left, shaking his head.

"He's right. This is unprofessional," Molly protested.

"That's not what you said when you worked overnight last week," Sherlock reminded her.

* * *

 _Hehe! Just a little fun with gifs. Check me out on tumblr to 'see what I mean'. Thanks ~Lil~_


	13. The Face of Nope

_**mizjoely asked:** 13 for Sherlolly: Get out of the way before I murder you. (tumblr drabble challenge prompt)_

 _Rated T - unbeta'd_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-The Face of Nope-**

Hands on her hips, Molly stood glaring at John Watson. At that moment he realised _just how_ frightening a small angry, pathologist could be. " _You need to move_ ," she growled.

"Now, Molls…" he started, holding his hands in front of his chest defensively.

"My fiance is in that hospital room..." She pointed to the closed door behind him. "...injured and no one is telling me _anything_. Now, either move or I'll show you why my Hapkido instructor refuses to spar with me anymore."

John winced, remembering some of the stories Sherlock had proudly shared about Molly's fighting abilities. "I understand that you're upset, but if you'll just let me…"

" _What_!? Why won't you let me in?" she demanded.

"It looks worse than it is," John answered frantically.

"What looks worse than…"

"He sort of fell… on his... _face_." He was still standing in front of the door and even though he was starting to question his sanity for following Sherlock's instructions, he had no intention of letting Molly inside that room until she was calm. _My God she's scary. Buck up man, you've been to war!_

Her expression changed from well, terrifying, to annoyed in a instant. "Get out of the way before I murder you," she said, her icy voice sent a shiver down his spine.

And that's when John's courage failed. He moved to one side and Molly opened the door.

"TWO DAYS, SHERLOCK! WE'RE GETTING MARRIED IN TWO BLOODY DAYS!" her words could be heard down the entire corridor.

John decided it was a good time to go get some tea. Sherlock was going to have to handle this one on his own.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! ~Lil~_


	14. Bonus Points

_27: I swear, I'm not scared. 44: I can't believe you didn't remember 77:Must be a coincidence for **Mychakk** (tumblr drabble challenge)_

 _Rated K+ - Not beta'd, sorry._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-Bonus Points-**

"Molly..." Sherlock started, looking down at the frightened looking woman sitting next to him.

"I swear, I'm not scared," she said, however the tremble in her voice and white knuckled grip on the seat betrayed her.

"Then why are you trying to fuse your hands with that seat cushion?" He'd never actually seen her this afraid.

"Well, I'm not...I'm just..." She moved her hands to her lap and balled them into tiny little fists.

"Molly, are you by chance afraid of flying?" he asked, kicking himself mentally for not deducing it.

"No! No I'm just having an unusually anxious day," she lied plastering on a fake smile. "That's all."

"Ah, it must be a coincidence then. It has nothing to do with the fact that we're flying in a small private jet, 30,000 feet in the air…"

"For the love of all things holy, would you please just shut up!?" she whispered.

"Come here." He put his arm around her, pulling her into his chest. "This would be more comfortable if you'd take of that damn seatbelt."

"Not a chance in hell."

Sherlock chuckled. "Would you like me to tell you where we're going?"

Looking up at him with wide eyes she said, "I thought it was a surprise?"

"It'll put a damper on things if you have a panic attack before we arrive. We're going to Monaco. We have villa and a week to ourselves, no cases."

She finally smiled and seemed to relax a bit. "Just whisking me away for no reason, Sherlock Holmes? You better be careful, some people might think that's romantic."

 _Oh,_ he thought, _I'm going to get so many bonus points for this._ "It's our anniversary. I can't believe you didn't remember."

Molly looked puzzled, _very_ puzzled. "What are you talking about? We've only been dating for five months."

"It's the anniversary of the day we met, Molly." He brushed his hand across her cheek as he watched her start to tear up. _Note to self: flying makes Molly a weepy ball of nerves._

"You… you remember when…?"

Leaning forward, he kissed her sweetly. "Of course I do. I haven't deleted a single moment with you."

"Oh God…" she sighed, all of her nervousness and fear seemed to have disappeared. "You sweet, sweet man."

"Yeah, I am pretty sweet," he said with a shrug. This boyfriend business wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be.

Just then the plane shook as it hit a bit of turbulence. Molly clutched at his shirt, and buried her face in his chest. "Not scared, huh?"

"Next time, drug my tea," she mumbled.

* * *

 _Thanks, hit me up! ~Lil~_


	15. Bribery is NOT Cheating!

_**elennemigo**_ _asked: #42 This is where you impress me, right? Drabble Challenge on tumblr! Unbeta'd_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-Bribery is NOT Cheating-**

Molly and John stood to the side watching the battle of wills between the two year old and the grown man in front of them. It had been going on for almost forty minutes now. Surprisingly the floor was still dry.

Rosie was a formidable opponent. She stood her ground, unrelenting, dressed in her yellow sundress and… _nappyless_!

"Rosamund, are you a big girl?" Sherlock asked in an almost childlike voice. When this whole process had begun he'd kept his voice firm, demanding her attention (which she very rarely gave him), as he logically explained the virtues of peeing in the toilet rather than her nappy.

He was losing steam.

"Rosie big!" she insisted.

"Of course you are. And what do big girls do?"

" _Ductions_!" she shouted and clapped.

"Yes, well they do. But they also go potty on their princess toilet!" he explained.

The toddler made a sour face. "No!"

Sherlock's shoulders slumped. " _Why_ , Rosie?"

The child just turned and picked up a stuffed hedgehog and threw it at the crouching man in front of her.

"Ah, Sherlock?" Molly said as she approached the pair.

He stood, a defeated look on his face. "This is where you impress me, right?"

She held out her hand to her goddaughter and said, "Come on, Rosie." The child got up and dutifully took the proffered hand, following Molly to the bathroom.

 **Ten minutes later…**

Molly emerged with a huge grin on her face as Rosie ran toward her dad.

"I did it daddy! Pottied like Aunt Molly!" she announced proudly as her father picked her up.

"Good job, Rosie," he said with a kiss to her cheek.

"How?" Sherlock asked the smug woman next to him.

"Nope!" She picked up her jacket and bag. "Now, if I remember correctly, the winner gets to pick the restaurant."

John watched the exchange closely as he helped his daughter with her jumper.

"And I'm in the mood for..." She paused dramatically. "Ice cream," Molly finished before leading the group to the door.

"You bribed her! You _cheated_!" Sherlock said, grabbing Molly by the arm and turning her around.

"That's not cheating, my love. It's winning." She kissed his cheek and walked out the door, Sherlock hot on her trail complaining the whole way.

"Rosie," John said picking up his daughter. "What are we going to do with your godparents?"

"Put 'em in timeout!" she offered.

"You know, that's not a bad idea." He laughed.

* * *

 _Thanks! Let me know if you liked it : ) ~Lil~_


	16. A Tiny Irish Tree

_Drabble challenge,_ **sammykatz** _asked: 46: I could beat you up, you know that right?, 51: I'm not weird, you're just basic, 71: We're not 'fine' - I put all three together and came up with this._

 _Gonna attempt uniLock…. (I suck at this!)_

 _Big thanks to MrsMCrieff for her help with Brit business (the differences between the US and British educational systems are astounding...)_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-A Tiny Irish Tree-**

Sherlock leaned against the building, smoking, and watching the couple across the courtyard. They obviously thought that they were alone. The whole scene was making him uncomfortable and he couldn't quite explain why. He, of course, knew Molly Hooper. He had had several classes with the petite brunette in the two years of university they'd thus far completed. She was bright, charming, pretty and far too good for that short Irish bastard!

"No. We're not ' _fine'_ , Jim," she said. "Sometimes you…"

"What?!"

"You just… you make me feel a bit… uneasy," she finally managed.

 _Understatement,_ Sherlock thought as he took another drag. _That guy's a psychopath._

Jim laughed. "That's sayin' something, love, as weird as you are with your obsession with dead bodies and all," he mocked.

Molly had started to walk away but turned and stormed up to the creep. "I'm not weird, you're just basic! And I'm through."

She turned once again to leave and Sherlock watched as Jim grabbed her by the wrist, jerking her back to him. "We're through when I say we're through, Molly. And I'm nowhere near finished with you."

Sherlock had started walking the moment Jim grabbed Molly and by the time he got to the pair, he was murderous.

"Let her go," he said as threateningly as possible.

Jim dropped Molly's hand and pushed her away. "Oh, look, Molls. The posh boy's here to save the day."

"Molly, come here," Sherlock ordered.

After a moment's hesitation, she moved behind him.

"Now, I do believe that she said she was done with your insignificant arse. Don't let us keep you from whatever general menacing you have planned."

Jim glared and walked up to the taller man. "You've been looking at my arse?" he asked as his glare slowly morphed into a grin then turned his attention to Molly, who was behind Sherlock and just to his right. "Barkin' up the wrong tree with this one, cupcake." He winked.

"Any tree's better than yours," Molly said, stepping around Sherlock. "The branches are so small."

"You're just itching for it, today! Most people are smart enough not to cross me, Molly. I thought you were…"

"You thought she was meek enough to take whatever you dished out," Sherlock interrupted. "Clearly you were mistaken. Not to mention…" He stepped closer to purposely loom over the smaller man. "I could beat you up, you know that right?"

Jim looked at Molly then back to Sherlock. "Have I finally got your attention, Holmes? All it took was a little pantomime with this lovely Miss Hooper. She's your weakness, you know." As he started to walk away he said in a sing-song voice, "I'll be watching!"

Sherlock waited until Jim was all the way across the courtyard before turning to Molly. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "Should I be worried? About Jim, I mean."

 _Of course you should be worried, he crazy and brilliant._ "No. I'm sure he's all talk," he lied, knowing that he'd be keeping an even closer eye on Jim and Molly for that matter. Speaking of which…

"Um, would you like to get some coffee?" she asked, her voice a bit shaky. He wondered if it was from the altercation or her question. Judging by the blush on her cheeks, it was most likely the latter.

"Well…"

"I just thought I should thank you for… what you did… and all."

"The canteen's coffee tastes like rat piss. I know a place," he said then started walking.

"Oh, now?"

"You don't have any classes this afternoon, and I don't have any that I can't miss."

"You know my timetable?" she asked as she caught up with him.

"I know lots of things, Molly Hooper." Looking down at her, he smirked and thought, _oh yes, I'll definitely have to keep a very close eye on her._

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! ~Lil~_


	17. It's Just Love

_Miz got an anon ask about the I Love You scene, but Molly having to make Sherlock say 'the words' instead of the other way around. I wrote a thing... MizJoely beta'd it for me, bless her! But the mistakes are all mine. I actually have to thank my son, H, he made a couple of suggestions... he's amazing and brilliant! Enjoy!_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy! ~Lil~_

* * *

 **\- It's Just Love -**

"He won't do it, dear. Sorry."

"I don't believe that you're actually sorry."

The psychopath chuckled. "Probably not."

 _Don't let her bait you_ , she told herself. But of course...

"Molly... poor, sweet, innocent Molly."

"Shut up."

"He'll never admit it."

"Shut up!"

"It's fascinating, you know, all these complicated little emotions." Eurus paced around the battered, bloodied woman, a wicked gleam in her eye. "He _does_ love, I believe. He loves drugs, of course, and Mummy. He loves puzzles and John Watson and that landlady of his. He loves being right and showing off. And he may even love you, Sweet Molly. But he'll never say it. Not out loud."

Molly refused to cry anymore. She'd cried when the guard - she assumed he was a guard - of the prison had beat her and threatened to rape her. It was the most pain she'd ever experienced and even though she had tried, she couldn't stop the tears from falling. She was pretty sure she had at least one cracked rib, perhaps two. The man had knocked out two of her teeth and busted her nose. It was still bleeding. But now, two hours later, Molly Hooper was done crying.

"Are you ready, Sweet Molly?" Eurus asked, nodding at the monitor. "You remember the rules, dear. If you want to live…"

Sherlock's flat appeared from four different angles on the screen as his mobile rang. He was in his kitchen, sitting in front of a microscope. With a huff, he removed his goggles and picked up the device.

Looking confused, he answered, "Molly?"

"Hello, Sherlock," she said. She couldn't help but smile; he looked so handsome.

"What do you need? I'm in the middle of an experiment."

"Nothing really. I just… just wanted to hear your voice," she explained, fighting back tears.

"What?"

"I've always loved your voice."

"Molly?"

"We should have had coffee."

"What are you talking about, Molly?"

"One coffee date… it would have been lovely."

Eurus raised her hand toward the monitor then looked at the other woman. "Careful, you are getting dangerously close." She made another gesture and focused her attention back on her brother on the screen.

"Molly, what's going on? You sound… what..?" He stood and walked to the front window.

"Nothing's going on, Sherlock. Sometimes it just nice to talk to a friend. We're friends, right?"

"Of course."

"I need to tell you something, something you already know. But I need to say it, just once." She was breaking down, her voice was cracking.

"What?"

"Well, it's hard, you see…"

"Why is it hard?"

"Because it's… because it's true."

"If it's true, Molly and I already know it…"

"No. I need to say it out loud. It's the most important thing…" Then she broke.

" _Hurry, Molly,_ " Eurus warned.

"Who's there with you, Molly? Why are you so upset?" Sherlock questioned.

Taking a deep breath, she fortified herself. This was her goodbye, and she had to make it count. "Just a fr-friend, nobody, really," she said, eyeing the psychopath before turning back to watch the man on the screen. "Ah, so, what I need to say is that I love… I love you. I've always loved you, Sherlock. And I don't regret it." Heaving a great sob, she added, "I don't regret it at all."

On the monitor, Sherlock turned around in a circle and ran a hand through his hair. "Where are you? I'll come and get you, we'll have coffee now."

"No. No coffee for us, I'm afraid." Tears and mucus were running down her face. She wished one hand was free so she could at least clean herself. But she wasn't even afforded that dignity. "Please don't forget that I loved you."

" _Molly…_ " Eurus edged closer to her, bringing the gun up her temple. "That 'ed' may have just…"

"What do you mean loved, Molly? You're not running out on me, are you?" Sherlock asked with laughter in his voice.

The women looked at one another then back to the monitor.

"Hey, I love you too, you know that, right?" he said a small smile on his face.

Another sob broke as she tried to speak. "No, Sherlock, I didn't," Molly managed.

"Silly woman. Of course I do. I'm just rubbish at showing it. Where are you, Molly?"

"I'm…"

"Well done, brother," Eurus interrupted. "How did you know?"

He walked to the mantle, closing in on one of the cameras. He looked right into it and said, "I didn't. But, I realised if she was brave enough to say it then what the hell was I waiting for?"

"If you want her, come claim her," his sister said with disgust. "I'll be gone by the time you get here."

"Well then, sister of mine, you better run far and run fast. Because after I do, after I get Molly Hooper back, I'm coming for you."

"It seems that the game is on," she said as she disconnected. Turning to the woman bound to the chair, she said, "That was an interesting turn of events. I honestly wasn't expecting that. You weren't even trying. Willing to die rather than ask him to say the words." She walked towards the door, but paused and turned back to Molly. "Why? Was it pride?"

"No. It's something that you'll never understand."

"Which is?"

"It's just love," Molly said as she rested her head on the chair and waited for Sherlock Holmes to rescue her.

* * *

 _Thanks so much for reading. Reviews are always appreciated! ~Lil~_


	18. Mirrors

_This is a very tiny something I wrote on Tumblr the other day in response to some wank that was floating around. You know, the whole "Molly is a mirror for John" bologna. It's a bit frilly, but I wrote it in anger. I apparently get frilly when I'm mad._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

\- Mirrors -

She was his mirror. She always had been. Though instead of showing him a reflection of his true self, she reflected what he aspired to be.

 _Goodness and light._

She reflected his secret desires- his need- his disdain for a deeply held belief that had stifled him for so long, he couldn't actually remember when he'd adopted it.

She reflected hope.

The purity of her heart, the depth of her loyalty, the strength of her convictions, the sincerity of her compassion, were qualities he could only dream of obtaining.

And he knew he never would.

But that didn't really matter, not whilst he had Molly Hooper to look him in the eyes and remind him to keep trying.

And when he couldn't stand the sight of his own face, he would turn to hers because s _he_ was his mirror. Molly Hooper's image far more pleasing anyway.

* * *

 _It's so short, that I feel bad asking for a review... I still want one, mind you. Thanks ~Lil~_


	19. Oooh, That Smell

_This is for gettingovergreta and just-mindy because of Facebook. This *may require an explanation… gettingovergreta made a FB post about a 221B scented candle, which caused a whole flock of comments and also inspired this little ficlet. Hope you like it, it's unbate'd, sorry about that._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **\- Oooh, That Smell -**

She could smell something odd as she walked up the steps to Sherlock's flat, but that wasn't abnormal. What _was_ wholly (or unholy) abnormal, however, was the wall of stench she was hit with when she opened the door.

"Mother of God!" Molly shouted, covering her nose to block the odor. _My eyes!_ she thought, closing them tightly as they started to water. "What have you done?"

A moment later, her boyfriend of three months was holding her shoulders and speaking to her. "You're early. The conference doesn't end until tomorrow!"

 _Cough - gag - cringe._ "I begged off." She risked opening her eyes. _I'm gonna throw up._ "I… I wasn't interested in…" _No, no! I can't._ She turned and made for the door, but Sherlock stopped her.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked, looking quite downtrodden.

 _What? Why is he…_ She couldn't even focus on speaking with the noxious fumes enveloping her senses. "Street!" she managed as she jerked her hand free and all but ran down the stairs.

Once on the pavement, Molly gulped in the sweet-smelling ( _never thought I say that about London_ ) air. Taking deep, cleansing breaths, she sat down on the stoop, begging her greasy breakfast sandwich she ate on the train to stay put.

" _Oh, my god…_ " she whispered then spit. _Sorry, Gran, can't worry about being ladylike right now._ "It's in my mouth!"

Sherlock was suddenly by her side. "What's in your mouth?"

 _NO!_ She stood, backing away from him. _He brought it with him!_

"Molly?"

Holding up her hands defensively, she said, "Stay right where you are. Do _not_ move!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Wipe that pout off of your lips and tell me why it smells like the devil's _arsehole_ in your flat!"

He huffed, then took a deep breath himself. "Oh… it is quite bad, isn't it?" After another inhalation, he added, "I hadn't realised until…"

"Yes, yes, the sweet smell of London in mid-August. What did you do?"

The detective slumped, sitting down on the stoop. " _Iwastryingtomakeyousomething_."

"I'm sorry? What language was that?"

"I was trying to make you something," he repeated, over-enunciating each word.

Molly ignored his childishness and moved on to the important things. "What exactly did you try to make? A chemical weapon?"

"A candle," he murmured softly.

"A…"

"That smells like… me."

That's when she remembered their conversation the night before she left for Cardiff…

 _Molly lay with her face buried in Sherlock's chest. Breathing deeply, she said, "God, Sherlock, if you could bottle this…"_

" _Bottle what?" he asked with a throaty chuckle._

" _Your scent." She inhaled again. "Mmmm…" After that, she all but attacked him, even though they had only just finished making love fifteen minutes prior._

 _Oh, you beautiful idiot,_ she thought as she bit the bullet and sat down next to the smelly man she loved so much. "What's in it?"

Witha deep sigh, Sherlock explained, "I started with my cologne and added, scents I thought you'd associate with me."

"Such as?"

"Cigarettes and formaldehyde."

Her stomach started rolling as he listed the ingredients.

"Then I added some gunpowder and blood."

 _Blood_?!

"But the hardest part was trying to capture my… own _body odors_."

"Okay, that's enough!"

"Also, I added some cannabis," he added quickly.

"What? Why?"

"You may not notice because you're so used to it, but it wafts up from downstairs."

 _That made sense. However…_ "Sherlock, why? I mean it's sweet, but.."

"Because you won't move out of your flat and I want you thinking about Baker Street even when you're not here."

The dear sweet man actually looked a bit shy. "Well, that was… thoughtful."

"Mmmhmm…"

She put her arm around the stinky dolt and kissed his cheek. "Why don't we go to mine and share a nice, long bath."

"That's a good idea. I don't really want to be here when Mrs. Hudson get's home from her sister's," he said as he stood.

* * *

 _LOL! Drop me a line and let me know if you like my stinky fic! Thanks for reading. ~Lil~_


	20. Initial Mistake

_MizJoely prompted me to write this and, Lord, did I have fun! The actual prompt is at the bottom to keep from spoiling anything. It's a hard **T** or soft **M** for the rating on this one. No sex, but lots of _ naughtiness _._

 _The lovely and talented MrsMCrieff_ beta'd _this for me. Thanking you Mrs!_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 _ **\- Initial Mistakes -**_

 **J** **ohn Watson**

Still laughing, John watched Sherlock pacing the flat. The anxious man checked his mobile every two seconds. He couldn't help it. His friend's laziness had finally caught up with him and he was enjoying every minute of it.

"I warned you, you know!" the doctor said, not even trying to hide his glee.

Sherlock ignored him and, once again, checked his phone.

"This could have been avoided if you'd just update your contacts! Who uses initials instead of full names?" John asked.

"Bugger off!" Sherlock snapped.

"Now, is that for me, or Mrs. Hudson?

" _John…"_

"It would go nicely with the photo you sent her," he said as he stood.

Throwing his hands in the air, Sherlock growled inarticulately, then stomped towards the kitchen.

John followed, saying, "If you're looking for chocolate digestives, you're out, remember? You asked Mycroft to fetch you some. I'm sure he's on his way. Should be here any minute with your nibbles."

 **Mycroft Holmes** (twenty-seven minutes prior)

"If you'll turn to page sixty-seven of your pack, you can follow along as I explain. The increase in our usage of staples has had a profound effect on the budget. I propose…"

Mycroft turned to the appropriate page but did not follow along. _What is this fool even talking about?_ His mind wandered to more productive things, like the height of Andrea's shoes she'd been wearing that morning. They seemed to get higher and higher every day. She'd be taller than him soon. Today they were black patent leather. _They'd go nicely with the black teddy and thong I just bought her,_ he thought.

He was just conjuring a visual of his assistant in something altogether unsuitable for work when his mobile pinged. Looking down, he opened his messages. It was from his brother. _Of course._

 **Emergency,** it read. **Need chocolate digestives immediately. Blood sugar dangerously low. Death imminent. If door to flat is locked, leave them. Either dead or busy writing Last Will and Testament**

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes. Unfortunately, this drew the attention of the Minister of… _Staples? Oh, God! Who is this idiot?_

"Mr. Holmes," the idiot said. "Did you have something to add?"

"No, Minister," he answered. "I just received a message about a family member. They are quite… ill, it seems."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," the man said, actually looking concerned. "Do you need to leave to take care of them?"

For the first time since they were children, Mycroft felt like hugging his little brother. He wouldn't of course, any more than he'd fetch his damn biscuits! However… "If it wouldn't be too much of a problem, Minister?"

"Of course not." The man waved him off. "Go. Take care of your family, Mr. Holmes. I'll forward the meeting minutes to your assistant."

Mycroft stood and quickly exited the room as he made his way towards the lifts he wondered if Andrea was back from the office supply store yes. They'd run out of stapes, ironically. She _might_ just need a foot rub after walking around in those shoes all day.

 **Martha Hudson** (thirty-three minutes prior)

"I cannot thank you enough, Martha," Father Haverty said as they stood in the rectory, finishing up their conversation about the upcoming Saturday morning breakfast.

"It's no trouble, Father. You know how much I enjoy helping. Are you sure a dozen batches are enough?" she asked.

"More than, I'd say," he answered with a chuckle. "The last time you baked for the soup kitchen, we had quite a turnout, though. If word gets out, I'm sure we'll be feeding half of London."

As Mrs. Hudson smiled at the compliment her mobile pinged. "If you'll just excuse me," she said, pulling the device out of her bag.

"I understand," the priest said. "Even _I_ have one of those things."

After unlocking the screen, she opened her messages to find a photo of a… "What the hell?!" she exclaimed.

"Martha?"

She barely heard him, too absorbed in the image in front of her eyes. "I can't… it's… Sherlock's sent me a… penis!"

"Excuse me?" Father Haverty asked in a startled voice.

Looking up, she realised what she had just said, to a priest no less. "Oh, sorry. My tenant, he's, ah, a detective and I believe that this is something to do with a case… I, ah, think."

"Is… that something he does… often?"

"Well, he's…" Thinking fast, she tried to come up with an explanation. She had nothing! "… Protestant," she finally said with a tilt of her head, hoping it would be enough. The priest's lips thinned as he nodded, as a knowing look swept over his face. _I can't believe that worked._ "If you'll excuse me. I should…"

"Of course," he said. "We'll see you Saturday."

Once on the pavement outside the church, Martha pulled up the contacts on her mobile, looking for Mrs. Turner's number. "Emmaline?!" she said when her friend answered the call. "This idea of yours had better work because I just humiliated myself in front of Father Haverty!" Pause. "Sherlock, of course! He sent me a dick pic."

The last two words got her several strange looks; she didn't even notice.

"Oh, he was obviously trying to send it to Molly." Pause. "Because it came with the message ' _See what you do to me? Come as quick as you can. Dead bodies can't be nearly as interesting as my hard cock!_ '"

The strange looks once again went unnoticed by the older woman, she was too busy giggling.

"Now, back to my problem. If Mr. Campbell isn't there this Saturday I'm going to be quite unhappy about spending two weeks baking my fingers to the bone for your church! Meeting a man shouldn't be this much work! You'd better make sure he's there or I won't let you see what Sherlock's working with!"

 **Molly Hooper** (thirty-nine minutes prior)

It had been one of those days; Molly was exhausted. She had performed three autopsies (complete with mounds of paperwork) and was getting ready to start her fourth when her mobile pinged. It was sitting in her office, of course, she never brought it with her to the morgue. She had just walked out the door when she heard it. Turning, she huffed and walked back inside to read the message.

 **I won't do whatever it is you want from me - Sherlock** it read. "What?" she said out loud, shocked and a little bit hurt.

She read the last message she'd sent him…

 **If Toby doesn't stop pissing on the bathroom rug I'm going to lose my mind! Is it the colour? Does it offend his aesthetic? I mean, he's never done this before! Think I should take him to the vet or is it just a phase? Oh, and how's the case? Miss you (and your cock!) - Molly xx**

It made no sense. What did he think she wanted from him? Could he have thought she expected him to take Toby to the vet? She shook her head. No; that was just stupid. She never asked Sherlock to run errands for her. He was… Well, she loved the man, but he was laziness personified. He once messaged her to ask her to get him a blanket because he was cold and it was 'all the way in his bedroom'. She didn't, of course. She told him to get up off his arse, unless he was he was dying, and get his own damn blanket!

Rereading the message, Molly once again tried to figure out what she could have done to upset her… Sherlock. They hadn't made any 'proclamations' yet. They just _were_.

"Dr. Hooper," Eric, her lab assistant, called out.

"Yes, sorry," she said, locking her mobile, she laid the device down on her desk. "I'm coming." It would have to wait, _he_ would have to wait, Molly had a fifty-seven-year-old drowning victim to deal with at the moment.

 **Sherlock Holmes** (three hours later)

He was in a state. Sherlock had spoken with his brother, well, he'd exchanged text messages…

 **That was a mistake. Phone me. - Sherlock**

 **Of course it was a mistake. I'm not getting you biscuits, little brother. You've managed to survive this long, you shall persevere. - Mycroft**

 **I mean, you pompous windbag, that it was sent in error! - Sherlock**

 **Ah, that does make sense. If Mrs. Hudson is going to the shops, have her get me some whipped cream and strawberries. - Mycroft**

 **No. Have your assistant pick them up. They're for her, after all. - Sherlock**

There were no more messages after that.

He had also received a phone call from his landlady. The conversation that had followed was one that he would _definitely_ be erasing from his mind palace…

" _Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said when he answered._

" _Yes?" He tried to sound unaffected. He was not._

" _Next time you want to send your girlfriend a photo of your bits and bobs, you might want to be more careful."_

" _Yes, Mrs. Hudson."_

" _And Sherlock?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _Tell Molly I said congratulations."_

 _Sigh. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson."_

He had not heard from his lover, however, and it was killing him. He had messaged her first, of course. Then phoned her, though he hadn't expected her to answer. Even if she wasn't furious with him, she was at work and most likely busy.

They had yet to have an actual 'fight' so far in their relationship. Things had been going smoothly. Too smoothly. He knew he was bound to bugger things up eventually, he just never thought it would be over something so unimaginably stupid as a series of missent texts.

Thankfully, John had left to go pick up Rosamund from her playgroup. Sherlock needed to think. Molly's shift had just ended and she should have been able to phone him. _Unless she's pissed off at me, that is._

Did women find this sort of thing unforgivable? He didn't bloody know! He'd never been in a relationship before, for God's sake!

His explanation to her had been direct and to the point. He had not begged for forgiveness. Sherlock Holmes _did_ not beg. It was a simple mistake (a hilarious one, judging by John's reaction), and if she couldn't see that, then maybe she wasn't really the woman for him!

It was bad enough that his landlady had seen his penis (his fully erect penis!). Molly would just have to get over this little mishap and move on! If she couldn't understand that he was tired and hungry and distracted by his overwhelming desire for her…

Why hadn't she phoned him back?!

Why was she avoiding him?!

He checked his watch. _7.17. She should be out of the building by now._ Picking up his mobile, he sighed seeing that he had no new messages. Tapping on her name - her full name - he looked at her photo for a moment.

After realising his mistake - which happened about ten minutes after sending Molly's _(intended)_ message - he went through his contacts, changing all the initials to full names. He also added photos to some of them, just for good measure. To Molly's he attached a picture of her sleeping on his settee; Mycroft got a generic image of a half eaten chocolate cake.

The longer he stared at Molly's photo the more anxious he became. Her silence spoke volumes. His mind started concocting all sorts of scenarios, none of them good. She wouldn't forgive him. She'd leave him and he'd be alone for the rest of his life. He didn't want to be alone anymore! Now that he knew what it felt like to be loved, truly loved, he didn't want to go back to a solitary life! He'd miss the companionship, the conversations, the sex!

He simply didn't want to be without her.

So caught up in his irrational panicking, he failed to notice the footfalls on the stairs. Suddenly, the door to the flat opened. Raising his head, he saw her, _his Molly,_ walking into the flat. She wasn't looking at him, busy kicking off her shoes and tossing her bag onto the settee.

"It's bloody hot out there… still!" she said with an exasperated sigh. Finally, her eyes met his. "Sherlock! You look awful! Haven't you slept yet?"

"No," he answered, moving towards her slowly. He couldn't quite believe that she was standing in his flat. Wasn't she angry with him? Hadn't he done something horrible? _Wait… No!_ Trying to clear his mind, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. _Oh, yes. The messages._ When he opened them, Molly was right in front of him.

"You can't do this! You've been up for days, haven't you, you stupid man?"

 _Almost three days, actually._ "About that text…"

"Yeah." She laughed. "I figured that you meant to send it to Mycroft. Took me a mo, but it struck me while I was spreading Mr. Davies' ribs. I told you to change your contacts before you do something like that."

"I sent you an explanation…"

"Oh, my mobile died during my last autopsy. Forgot my charger this morning. I need to get a spare for work." Taking his hand, she started pulling towards the bedroom. " _This_ is a teaching moment, Sherlock. Just be thankful that you didn't send Mrs. Hudson a message asking for a photo of my boobs or something. She'd probably take you seriously. Really, telling me off, thinking I'm your brother, isn't even _close_ to the disaster this could have been."

"Disaster…"

"Yes." They were in the bedroom before he even realised it. Molly started undressing him. "You take a nap," she said as she unbuttoned his oxford. "And I'll run home and check on Toby. He's been…"

"Urinating on your rugs."

"I think I've figured that out, by the way. He's mad because I'm not home as much and acting…"

"Bring him here," Sherlock said, surprising even himself.

She had gotten to his trousers but stopped all movement, looking him in the eyes. She seemed bewildered. "What?"

"You heard me, Molly. Why are we pretending that this isn't inevitable?" He gripped her arms, pulling her closer. "Move in with me."

"You need sleep, Sherlock. You've gone loopy."

He rolled his eyes. "I haven't. I don't want to have to track you down to show you my erection!" Okay, maybe he was a _little_ loopy. He would still have to track her down if she was working or out with her friends, but he'd feel much better if they had some kind of… understanding.

" _What?!"_ she squeaked.

Stepping back, he sighed and sat down on the bed. After gathering his thoughts, he looked up. "You're right; I am tired. But I want you here, with me. I… We haven't made any kind of formal… statement…" It wasn't the right word - none of them were - but he was determined to get to his point. "I just…I _do_ love you, of course, and…"

Molly was suddenly kneeling at his feet, holding hands, a huge smile on her face. "Okay, yes. Of course I'll move in, you silly man!" She kissed him sweetly. "I don't know what brought this on, but I am _very_ happy about it."

"Yes?"

"Yes!"

He heaved a deep breath. "Good. I think I'll sleep now if you don't mind." Lying back, still fully clothed except for his unbuttoned shirt, he said, "Go, get Toby and some of your things. And some biscuits, if you don't mind. I never did get any…" Yawning, he rubbed his eyes. "We'll settle everything else later."

Molly tugged on his shirt sleeve, then rolled him and removed it completely. She pulled off his trousers, tucked a blanket around him and kissed his forehead. "Be back in a bit."

"Bye, love," he mumbled, then suddenly remembered something important. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson wanted me to congratulate you."

"On what?"

"The size of my penis."

"What?"

"You weren't the only one who got the wrong message today, unfortunately," he said as he rolled onto his side. "Or fortunately depending on the way you look at it."

* * *

 _mizjoely_ _said: Premise: Sherlock is lazy when it comes to his contact list on his phone. Therefore he has 3 MH's: Mycroft Holmes, Molly Hooper and Martha Hudson. He gets a text from Myc, which he doesn't bother reading. He's getting back from a case and is horny so he decides to send Molly a dick pic. But he also wants chocolate digestives so he wants to ask Mrs. H to pick some up for him. And he decides to tell Mycroft to piss off, "I won't do whatever it is you want from me"._

 _He sends that one to Molly, the dick pic to Mrs. H and the request for the biscuits to Myc._

 _Like I said, so much fun! Let me know what you thought and thanks for reading. ~Lil~_


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